Swallowing loudly, she slowly asked, "What...what was that?"
He gave a lazy, yet self-satisfied shrug. "Just a little fun with jewelry." After a wink, he added, "You should see what I can do with cherries and chocolate syrup."
Her breath rippled out an unsteady breath and her eyebrows lifted. But before she said anything, she pressed her lips together and swallowed. It was amazing to watch her try to pull her wits together, to regain her control, and fail. He idly rested his shoulder against the wall as he watched, ready to take his time and savor her with a slow seduction.
"You’re certainly a fickle man, aren’t you?" she murmured, not looking at him but down at her hands where she’d stamped little half moon shapes into her palms from her fingernails.
Arching his brows, he caught a lock of her hair and wound it around his finger. "How so?" he couldn’t help but ask, curious where she was going with this.
Her eyes lifted a moment only to skitter away again. "In Vegas you couldn’t wait to be rid of me. Not that I blame you. I wasn’t exactly very nice to you, but you were pretty mad at me."
Cameron shifted, hoping she didn’t catch the restless move. "I don’t want to talk about that particular discussion in Vegas."
Olivia looked up and watched him study the way her hair tangled though his fingers. For once, he had no idea what she was thinking, and it frustrated him.
"So, why don’t you hate me anymore?"
He shrugged, and now it was his turn to avoid eye contact. "I’ve had time to cool down. Besides, what you said…" He finally met her gaze. "I deserved to be put in my place. I was acting nasty and rude. And I wasn’t mad at you really. I was more upset with myself. I just took it out on you."
She didn’t respond as she studied him with blue eyes that melted something hard and cold that had lived in him for years. Ten years to be exact.
Cameron usually didn’t like to talk about his feelings. He hated opening up to people. But then, usually, the only people who cared enough to want him to open up were his family, and he didn’t want to hurt them by revealing how messed up he’d become.
The woman in front of him wasn’t family, though, and for some reason, he suddenly wanted to ease some of this constant pressure off his chest. So, he glanced away and confessed, "You didn’t say anything I hadn’t already thought. Why did she kill herself? What did I do wrong? What should I have done that I didn’t?" He shook his head, letting the agony of those thoughts press against his throat, constricting his airway. "Toward the end, I got so tired of it all. I was sick of trying to make her happy, worn-out from watching every little thing I did and said. I just wanted a break. I wanted…" He shook his head, and his eyes slid to Olivia. "I don’t know. I just keep wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t slacked off, if I’d
just kept at it, kept working to make her smile."
When Olivia’s eyes filled with pity, he wished he’d kept his damn mouth shut. She started forward. He shook his head to stop her, lifting his hand to ward her off. When she kept coming, he took a step in reverse. "I wasn’t mad at you in Vegas," he repeated.
"I was still wrong," she countered. "I shouldn’t have spoken ill of your wife. I’m just used to…"
His eyes narrowed. "Used to what?"
She shook her head and lifted her fingers toward his face.
He caught her wrist and eyed her uncertainly. "What’re you doing?"
Her grin hinting at amusement, she said, "I thought you came here looking to get lucky."
"But I don’t want sympathy sex," he growled, dodging her hand as she reached for his hair once again.
"You want sex though," she countered flirtatiously, her grin doing crazy things to his already stiff member. "How about I throw in the sympathy for free?"
"Damn it," he hissed, grabbing her other hand when she refused to back off. "I don’t do pity. This is just about physical relief and a couple of mind-blowing orgasms."
She let out a husky laugh that went straight to his loins, damaging them even more. His balls tightened almost painfully and the zap of awareness that shot through his dick had him turning titanium hard. He wanted to strip her and lay her on the bed more than anything. She was wet and open down there, warm and ready for him. He didn’t want to talk anymore. It was time to get busy.
"Then you shouldn’t have fed me such a sob story," she said. "Because now I just want to touch you and make you feel all better again."